


Hold Me Closer

by 796116311389



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Implied/Referenced Torture, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Nightmares, Not Canon Compliant, PTSD Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Post S3, Series 4 didnt happen, Unrequited Love, implied PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-24 18:29:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14959853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/796116311389/pseuds/796116311389
Summary: The nightmares come more easily then sleep these days.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm procrastinating writing the rest of chapter 2 of Home (Sorry! Soon, I promise!) and I was flipping through my notes and I found this. It's not complete and I don't know where to go with it, but it seemed self contained enough to post. If you have an idea for where it goes next let me know, cause I sure don't, lol.
> 
> 10May2019  
> So this is done now. And in true me fashion there's a love confession and the promise of forever. <3

The nightmares come more easily then sleep these days.

Sherlock can't delete those years from his mind.

But he can avoid them.

He can stay awake for days on end, but eventually they catch up with him. Eventually his body betrays him and locks him away for hours inside his mind. He passes out and is forced to relive those months at the hands of others.

The beatings. The degrading things they said.

The constant threat of even more personally degrading things.

Sometimes his mind forces him through more than just his memories. Some nights they force him through the what-ifs.

What if Mycroft hadn't shown?

What if they had broken his body?

What if they had followed through on their darker threats?

He'll wake with a scream of terror stopped in his throat, his body covered in a night sweat so bad it's as if he stepped out of the bath, and if he passed out somewhere other than bed, then the likely destruction of whatever was breakable within reach of his thrashing.

He continues like this for literal months.

He watches John marry Mary.

He watches John grieve Mary.

He watches as John walks up to 221B and knocks on the door.

He answers and says 'Yes' before John can even ask if he's welcome back.

The answer is always yes.

He loves having John back.

He loves John.

John infuses the flat with a sense of warmth that was lacking before. Sherlock knows that he is home now and that before he merely resided in 221B.

Having John back is a problem with the nightmares. Sherlock is afraid to go to sleep, but, more so, he is afraid of John witnessing his weakness. He doesn't want John to see that. He should be stronger than a few night terrors.

Inevitably, John begins to notice Sherlock's extreme aversion to sleep.

"Sherlock, are you okay?" John had asked him one morning recently.

"Of course, John. Fine." Sherlock hadn't even looked at John, he just continued to stare out the window blankly.

How many days had he gone without sleep?

"Only, it's just you've been looking a little rundown and I havent seen you sleeping."

Oh, John.

He had snapped at him and stomped off to his room. He didn't come out until dinner and John had wisely let the topic drop.

But of course it was only a matter of time until John caught him.

The clock had started the minute John came back.

Sherlock has just had a terrifying nightmare where they had not only done what they did to him, but they had gone and taken John and they did awful things to him while Sherlock watched and there was nothing Sherlock could do.

Nothing.

Sherlock wakes in his bed, his sheets thrown completely off onto the floor. His body soaked in sweat. He rolls onto his side and curls into the fetal position and gives quiet sobs.

He doesn't realise immediately that John is at the door, in fact he doesn't realise at all until John gently calls his name.

Sherlock feels his pulse speed up so quickly he gets dizzy and he's sure he's going to vomit.

No.

No, no, no.

The one thing he couldn't do is burden John with his pathetic weaknesses. John has his own worries, he doesn't need Sherlock's.

He tries to say John's name. Tries to tell him to go away, but his throat is tight and he can barely breathe.

He watches as John quietly steps into his room. He's wearing pajama trousers and an old threadbare shirt. His hair is rumpled. Belatedly Sherlock realises that he's also holding a glass of water.

Stupid, awful timing. John came downstairs to get water and must have heard him having his nightmare.

John sets the water on the bedside table and climbs into bed with Sherlock.

Sherlock is in an utter state of shock.

Out of all the possible reactions he foresaw John having, this one is unprecedented. Somehow his mind could not fathom this single act of kindness.

He's all but ceases breathing as John coaxes him to turn over facing away and then proceeds to wrap his arms around him.

The impossible feeling of John surrounding him.

Finally he finds his voice again, but his vocabulary has been reduced to one word, "John?"

He hates how meek it sounds; how plantitive and small.

John uses his right arm on top to gently brush Sherlock's curls as he whispers quietly, "I don't know what your nightmare was about, Sherlock, but whenever I had one of mine I always woke with the wish that someone, anyone, would hold me and tell me it was going to be okay. So, yeah. Whatever it was, it's okay now."

Sherlock swallows heavily. He wants to cry some more, but the adrenaline from the nightmare and then from being caught by John has left him exhausted.

He snuggles into John, because John is right, he does want someone to hold him and tell him everything is going to be okay, but rather than just anyone, he has the one person he wants to hold him already wrapped around himself.

"My nightmare was about my time away. And then it was about you. You...dying." Sherlock gives a ragged sigh, the fear and panic from the dream threatening to consume him again.

John can feel Sherlock's tension and stops his petting to grasp Sherlock in a tight hug and quietly whisper in Sherlock's ear, "It's going to be okay. It was just a dream. You're here in London, in 221b and I'm here and I'm not going anywhere Sherlock. I will never leave your side again."

Sherlock grasps John's hands against his chest and hugs him back. 

"I know. I know that, John."


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock is slow to wake. 

It's a rare occurrence in his life that he doesn't come awake with a start, brain instantly cataloguing everything around it. 

So he can't be blamed when it takes him a moment to register John's slow breathes behind him, gently ruffling his hair. 

Oh God. Last night comes in a rush to him. 

His nightmare. 

John.

_'I will never leave your side again.'_

And now here he is, in bed, body wrapped and shielded from all the horrible shadows of his fears by the only person in the world who matters to Sherlock. 

It's everything he's ever wished for. Hoped for.

John must sense his wakefulness because he stirs and pulls Sherlock closer to him. "Mmm. 'Morning Sherlock. You okay? Did you sleep?"

"Yes, John. Thank you."

Sherlock can feel John smile where his face is pressed against his shoulder. "Good. I'm glad. I slept good as well, to be honest."

They lie together in the quiet stillness in the morning. Sherlock wishes this could last forever, this moment, but he's burning with questions. His best asset and greatest flaw: his insatiable curiosity. 

"John? Can I ask a question?"

"Of course. What is it?"

"Why did you climb into bed with me? Why weren't you...," Sherlock pauses. He's unsure what exactly to call the reaction he expected from John, "...disappointed?"

"Why on earth would I be disappointed?" 

Sherlock feels John pull back from him so he takes the opportunity to roll over and face him. Sherlock notes that John doesn't remove his hand from his waist. Sherlock searches John's face, who is currently looking at him with equal parts bafflement and concern. Sherlock just shrugs. 

"Sherlock. You went through so much for me. If anything, I'm disappointed in myself for not realizing you needed me sooner."

"You shouldn't be. I intentionally hid this from you."

"Doesn't change the way I feel."

Sherlock twitches his lips, at a loss for words. He doesn't know what to say.

John gives a gusty sigh laced with fondness, his eyes go impossibly soft as he searches Sherlock's face. He carefully moves his hand from Sherlock's waist and very slowly, almost hesitantly, places it on Sherlock's face, cupping his jaw. "Is this okay?"

Sherlock can only nod. 

They look into each other's eyes and Sherlock can feel the tension draining out of him as the warmth of John's palm soaks into him with every gentle caress of his thumb. "Sherlock. You know that I love you right?" 

Sherlock's eyes go wide and he stops breathing. His body is unnaturally still as the words hit him and wind through him into his heart. 

_John loves him?_

"I." Sherlock swallows, his throat tight, "I did not know that." His voice is raspy and he can hear himself choking on the words. "Could you please clarify what you mean?"

John's face is unreadable. It's not pity. If Sherlock had to guess he'd say maybe sorrow?

"I mean that you're the only person for me Sherlock. I love you in all the ways that matter. I want to be with you. I want to grow old with you." 

"Then why do you look so sad?"

"Because I thought you knew I loved you and didn't want me to. I thought you knew and now I know that you don't. Didn't. And that's my fault. I should have. I should have just said. I love you. Always have."

Sherlock feels his face go slack as he closes his eyes. He's so tired. He's been facing everything alone, terrified, if he's being honest with himself, that John was going to leave at any second. And because they're pants at communicating it was actually ridiculously uneccesary this whole time. 

_John_ loves him and he never wants to leave him. 

_He_ loves John and never wants to leave him. 

He opens his eyes. John is watching him with concern and, now that Sherlock knows to look for it, unreserved love. 

"John, may I ask you another question?"

"Yeah, Sherlock. What is it?"

"Can I kiss you?"

Sherlock is equal parts pleased and amazed to watch the dopey grin John gets as he processes Sherlock's question. 

"Yeah. I'd like that."

Sherlock feels his heart rate suddenly jackrabbit. Oh God, he's going to _kiss_ John. 

Sherlock leans in towards John very slowly. He can feel John's very soft breathes as they hit his lips and then he feels John hold his breath and then he is kissing John. His lips meet John's slowly and chastely. The kiss only lasts a lifetime and then it's over. Sherlock pulls back slightly to focus on John's eyes. To see his face. 

John is looking at him like he is the greatest wonder. His eyes are soft and he smiles gently, his lips slightly parted, revealing his joy at kissing Sherlock. 

Sherlock watches as John's so very expressive face changes slightly, it softens, almost imperceptibly. 

And Sherlock can't keep the words in, "I love you, John." 

And John beams love like a radiant sun, the warmth of his expression touching Sherlock's soul, reassuring him. 

There will be no more nightmares. 

There will be no more nights (or days) without John.

They are together. 

Forever.


End file.
